


shout to all my lost boys

by kriegersan



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Ass to Mouth, Choking, Degradation, Drug Use, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Felching, Humiliation, M/M, Rimming, Snowballing, Squick, Unsafe Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriegersan/pseuds/kriegersan
Summary: Michael and Trevor. Co-dependency. (Pre-North Yankton. Little snippets.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is woefully unbeta'ed, and banged out in the span of one day. 
> 
> Warnings for dub-con (toes the line with non-con), piss, ass to mouth, degradation, humiliation, mild anti-semitism, ham-fisted religious allegories. I'll probably come back and edit this a little more thoroughly, eventually.

The first time it happened it was just, y’know. Guy stuff. Didn’t mean shit.

If Michael was honest with himself (which he often wasn’t), he’d say it had been a long time coming. Ever since he’d stared at Trevor’s face over the smoking remnants of some poor bastard’s skull, watched the light from the flare make ugly shadows under his sallow skin, yeah, maybe he’d seen it coming. But denial had always been a comfortable state for Michael, so he stayed there until, well, Trevor didn’t really give him a choice.

But that had always been Trevor’s thing, hadn’t it? Pushing Michael past the breaking point, bending him into whatever shape served him best. Michael had always been mutable, able to roll with the punches, take whatever shit life slung into his face at any given time. Trevor was a whole different ballpark, hell, a whole different _game_ , one played in a bush with human skin and machetes and probably wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of fun for anyone but Trevor. But he could adapt. Yeah, he’d put on a flesh suit and wave the machete around for shits and giggles, he could adapt.

Such as that night, Michael was _adapting_ , for that one night piled in a shitty motel, just him and Trevor and a total lack of heating. One bed. Of course there’d only be one bed, one nasty bed with mysterious brown stains, but they’d already killed one case of beer between them and Trevor’d been into the crystal a bit. They were fucking broke and cold, cold enough that the gap had closed up between them, enough that Trevor’s late night compulsive channel flicking had finally stopped on a B-grade soft porno channel. Some blond girl giving another girl oral sex under a gauzily lit, Vaseline smeared lens. It would’ve been vaguely hot under any other circumstance, but Trevor. It was Trevor.

“Man, turn this shit off,” said Michael, belching quietly under his breath. His hand swung out wildly as he tapped another empty beer can onto the yellowing end table, uncaring as it tipped off, spilling the foamy entrails to the sticky carpet beneath. He vaguely grunted as he righted himself again, a little off balance. Maybe he should lay off the cheeseburgers-- staring down thirty, his metabolism wasn’t what it used to be. 

“What’s your problem, Mikey? Not dignified enough for ya? Or is it missing some of those snappy lines for you to obsessively regurgitate in place of a real personality?” Trevor flipped him a manic grin from his side of the bed. He hadn’t slept in days. He waved his arm around, crushed can in hand, continuing, “Blah blah blah, you forget a million things, fuck my ass, whatever.”

Michael shook his head, the room sloshing around before his eyes like the dregs of a bottle of whiskey. “Nah, T, just not keen on watching skin flicks with another guy in the room.” 

Trevor snorted, turned back to the TV. “What, you’re tellin’ me Mr. Good Time Football Fucker never rubbed one out with the team after a big practice? Everybody in a big circle congratulating each other on a job well done while the coach tickled your assholes? That’s bullshit, M, I say, bullshit.”

“Yeah, you can keep your sicko jerk-off fantasies to yourself, Trev. I don’t wanna fuckin’ know.” He sat upright, punching the pillow behind his lower back, felt his bladder twinge as the sheer amount of beer he’d consumed made itself known. He swung a leg off the bed, both feet hitting the floor, before the springs creaked as he lifted himself off. Yeah, lay off the burgers, that’d be a swell idea.

Trevor watched Michael pad off to the bathroom, and it took about half a second for him to peel his ass off the bed, following behind. Michael was too drunk to close the door behind him all the way, nudging it a crack open with his heel, leaving Trevor with a nice little vantage point. It had to be on purpose. Michael wouldn’t do that to him, tease him like that, it had to be on purpose.

See the thing was, since he’d _found_ Michael, since that first time he’d killed to save his chunky ass, Michael had never said no to him, not even once. See, that was how Trevor swung it, he mapped out his brain into little pockets, pushed all of the bullshit he dubbed the time ‘Before Michael’ into the dusty recesses of his cerebellum, the time ‘With Michael’ was like that first hit of speed, like a world of yes. It didn’t seem to matter what crazy shit he suggested, Michael’s big baby blues would light up, and yes, he was game for it. Yes, yes, yes. A universe of yes.

He’d never been really good with limitations, anyway. Michael Townley was just the man to expand his horizons. 

Trevor crossed his arms over his threadbare wifebeater, propped his shoulder against the doorjamb as he nudged it a little wider. Michael didn’t notice him, or didn’t care, widening his legs as he took his dick in hand, aiming himself down to the toilet. Trevor felt his mouth start to fill with saliva as Michael let loose, missing at first, drunk fuck, before correcting the stream of piss down into the water. Trevor licked his lips, just watching for a moment as Michael started to relax into it. 

Yeah, Michael never said no to him. He figured this was one of those moments. Trevor idly adjusted himself in the briefs that Michael bitched and moaned about (what kind of man didn’t want to be free balling in the sanctity of his own rented four walls, anyway?), then stepped forward, crowding up behind Michael in the tiny bathroom until his hips met squarely with Michael’s ass.

He felt Michael jump against his chest, jab an elbow back that knocked the wind out of him. Trevor wheezed.

“Trevor, what the fuck, man.”  

“Shh, Mikey, shh,” Trevor said, in his most reassuring and least crazy voice, he hoped. His whole body was practically vibrating as Michael resisted against him, too drunk to manage any proper sort of rebuttal to his advances. He stopped pissing, or at least he tried to, a thin stream dribbling out. Trevor hooked his chin over Michael’s shoulder, his hands slipping around his wide midsection, long fingers slipping down through his pubes, to where his cock was hanging out of his pants.

Michael elbowed him again, but Trevor could tell his heart wasn’t really in it. “T, get your fucking hands--”

“Thought you could use a little helping hand, my inebriated friend. How do you even see your dick past that gut? Jesus Christ, Mikey, no wonder your aim sucks, gettin’ piss all over the place. Can’t even see your fuckin’ dick.”

“Stop calling me-- don’t say that shit.” Michael breathed heavy, felt himself start to relax back against Trevor even if he really didn’t want to. Letting his guard down around Trevor sounded like a phenomenally bad idea. But his head was spinning a little, and it sure was nice to not have to hold himself upright. “M’just fucking wasted, man.”

“Yeah, no shit. Lemme help you, M.”

“Trev-- cut that shit--”

Michael gasped as Trevor’s cold, bony fingers circled the base of his flaccid dick, just holding him. He felt his bladder twinge again, still desperately needing to piss, Trevor had interrupted him, the fucker. He felt Trevor’s fingers dig into his hip, just above where his pants had sagged, before they ran up his back, his big hand digging hard into Michael’s tight trap muscle. “Relax, Mikey.” His thumb dug into the muscle, and fuck, his hand was cold around his cock. Trevor was touching his cock. Jesus Christ. “Rel _aaaa_ x.”

“Fuck,” Michael mumbled, looking down at himself. Looking at his dick in Trevor’s masculine hand, his hairy knuckles, cracked palms. He hissed out a breath between his teeth, his pelvic floor muscles relaxing despite himself, and started to piss again, the first few dribbles ending up on Trevor’s hand. 

“There ya go. See? Nice and easy,” said Trevor, adjusting his chin on Michael’s shoulder for a better look. His hips crashed against Michael’s ass, sent him wobbling forward, catching his hand against the cracked porcelain rim of the sink, next to the toilet. 

Michael could hear himself panting, could feel Trevor’s bony hips against his ass. It was like the room had hollowed down to everywhere Trevor was touching him, and he was distantly aware of the sound of the last trickles of his own urine hitting the toilet bowl. God, Trevor fucking Philips was helping him piss. Trevor fucking Philips was touching his dick, was shaking him off, was rubbing himself against his ass.

Michael grunted, arching his neck back, pushing his shoulders back, trying to create space between them. He didn’t really have anywhere to go, the bathroom was offensively small for two adult men, and Trevor’s fucking hand was still on his dick, starting to move at the base. 

“T, get the fuck off me, man,” said Michael, his voice cracking a bit, embarrassingly. He tried to stumble back, trapped by his pants around his ankles, his hip crashing into the sink producing a pained noise out of him. Trevor kept him locked in place, hand on one shoulder, chin on the other, fist tightening in warning around Michael’s soft cock.

“I know, I know. Two shakes, or else you’re just playin’ with it.” Trevor’s breath was hot against his ear, his lips cracked and dry as they brushed against the base of Michael’s neck. “So maybe I wanna play with you a little, Michael.”

“Stop, Trev.” He jammed his elbow back again, but not before Trevor grabbed his wrist with that meth-strong hand, roughly jerking it behind his back. “Fuckin’-- watch it!”  

Trevor grinned, pulling away from Michael’s back, their skin sticking where he was tacky with three days worth of sweat. He turned him manually until Michael’s lower back hit the sink, his legs stretching out to balance himself. He looked fucking stupid with his dick out of his pants, piss stains on the underwear snug up under his balls, t-shirt pushed up to mid-paunch. Michael’s eyes were bright red, and he wouldn’t look at him, mouth pulled into a scowl that Trevor wanted to punch or kiss off of him. He was a masterpiece, really, Trevor’s own personal Botticelli and Trevor wanted to _own_ him. 

He stepped in close, could taste the scuzzy beer on Michael’s breath, only stopping when Michael set a flat palm against his chest. His fingers burned bright points through the stretched out fabric of his wifebeater, and Trevor stared at him in the haze of the single, naked hanging light bulb overhead. The Birth of Venus. Primavera.

Michael was perfect for him. Like he was hand-carved by some awful God, and Trevor would go down to his knees and genuflect with the best of them just to show how damn grateful he was to find him. When his bare shin touched down on the linoleum, Michael groaned, put a hand to his forehead.

“T, what the fuck are you doing? Get up, man, get--”

“Shut _the fuck_ up, Michael!”

Michael’s hand grabbed onto his shoulder, hanging onto him like he was trying to push him away, or avoid falling over. Trevor raised his hands to slide up the fronts of Michael’s thighs, hooking into his waistband to tug his pants and underwear lower, down under the cheeks of his ass. His dick was still soft, wet at the tip, and Trevor licked his lips, leaned forward, stuck his tongue out to taste.

 He grunted as a knee caught him in the chest, Michael trying to kick him away. “Trevor, _what the fuck_!” His hands went firm at Michael’s hips, held him down as he took his flaccid cock into his mouth, until he had all of it between his lips. It tasted like the remnants of piss, sweat, Michael, Michael, Michael, and Trevor moaned hungrily, closing his eyes as he let the taste wash over his palate. Like heaven.

Michael stared down at Trevor’s thinning hair, stared down where his dick was in Trevor’s _fucking mouth_ , and he groaned, covered his mouth with his hand. “Jesus Christ, T, this stopped being funny, like--”

Trevor ripped away from his dick so fast that Michael actually squeaked, to yell, “ _Does this look like a fucking joke to you!”_ ”

It occurred to him then that he had a very sensitive piece of anatomy in Trevor’s ever-tightening grip, his teeth just so close. So close. Michael sucked in a breath through his clenched jaw, craned his head back. The ceiling had water stains, sweeping out from the corner like an outstretched hand. He tried to focus on the stucco, tried to focus on anything other than Trevor’s mouth, warm and hot and wet, closing over his cock again. His fucking mustache tickled.

God, he didn’t know what to do, where to put his hands, his mind a sloppy mess. He placed his palms against the edge of the sink, knuckles white as he gripped down, Trevor between his legs mouthing at his still woefully soft dick. 

Trevor pulled back, gave Michael’s wilting cock a look. “Shit, Mikey, you must be fucking loaded right now, huh. Soft as a newborn kitten.”

“Don’t fuckin’ talk about a man’s dick like that. Jesus Christ, Trev,” he responded, with an incredulous chuckle. He sighed. “Call me crazy, but ‘psycho meth head drifter’ ain’t my usual jerk-off fantasy.”

“So think about something else, you asshole,” Trevor grunted, opening his mouth to let the tip dangle between his lips. “Y’sure how to make a girl feel special, Mikey.”

He stared down at Trevor, withered a bit under the fierce, unhinged gaze that was turned up at him. Lay back and think of America. Yeah, he could do that, right? Between getting a blowjob from Trevor or getting his dick bitten off by Trevor, the choice was obvious. Besides, if it would keep him happy, keep him from flipping out and killing someone, ruining all of Michael’s carefully calculated plans, the job he’d spent the last few weeks setting up--

Michael sighed, closed his eyes, let his mind go wild. 

“Ooh, yeah, M, fuck yeah--”

“Don’t fuckin’ talk,” said Michael, slapping the side of Trevor’s face before he could think about it. He inwardly cringed at the filthy noise it produced out of his running buddy, his hand settling down uneasily on Trevor’s head. 

From that point it was just the sounds of his own heavy breathing, of Trevor using liberal amounts of phlegmy spit, which dropped off his chin and pooled on the floor between his bare knees. Michael had at least thickened out, sporting something between a half-chub and full mast, and God, it was embarrassing, all of this was fucking embarrassing. Trevor fucking Philips was sucking his dick in a shitty motel room next to a toilet full of his own piss. Getting up in the morning and facing himself in the mirror was going to be a Herculean effort. Really.

 Michael covered his face with his hand and groaned. Trevor sucked hard, raised a hand to tease Michael’s balls. He tickled a finger lower, pushing up on his taint. Michael groaned again, spread his legs as far as his pants could allow. 

It didn’t take much. He thought of his hottest jerk-off fantasies, and if he was being completely honest with himself (which he wasn’t, often), Trevor wasn’t half-bad at sucking cock. He bit the inside of his fleshy palm as Trevor sucked him deep, finger sliding against his sweaty taint until it tickled his ass, and fuck, _fuck_ , he was blowing his load into Trevor’s open, sucking, mouth.

He finally opened his eyes, startled as Trevor was standing up, hand releasing his dick to clamp over the side of his face. Michael winced as a thumb pressed into the hinge of his jaw, forcing his mouth open. Trevor spat his load back into his mouth, held his neck vice tight, before covering his nose and mouth with the opposite hand, suffocating him. Making him swallow it. 

Trevor’s tongue scraped the inside of his own mouth, savoring every remnant of the salty tang. He grinned, reaching down for Michael’s hand, dragging it over to his own crotch. “Come on, Mikey. Don’t be selfish, you bastard, come on.”

It had him seeing red almost immediately. Michael jerked his hand back, formed a fist, driving it straight into Trevor’s gut. He collapsed right against him, curled in on the hand Michael had twisted into his shirt, forehead knocking against his shoulder as he wheezed. “What the fuck was that for, Mike!? _Fuck!_ ”

“ _You’re_ the fucking bastard. Jesus Christ, Trevor, I’m not gonna touch your dick, now get away from me, you sick fuck.”

Trevor raised his head, looked straight into Michael’s wild eyes, and _yes_ , that was what he was looking for. They were like two separate halves of the same brain. Even though Michael tried to pretend that he was cool, unaffected, this was the real Michael. The one that only Trevor got to see.

“If you’d let go of me,” said Trevor, slowly, “I would.”

Michael didn’t let go. 

Instead, his weight shifted to one hip, then the other. Trevor’s nose bumped against Michael’s neck, eyes tracing the thick lines of his throat, where his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Mike--”

“Shut up, T.” He sighed. “Move.”

“But--”

“Move your _stupid fuckin’ ass_.”

He stepped back. Michael swayed into him.

Trevor wrapped his arms around Michael, hung onto him. Kept him upright. “Come on, cowboy. Bedtime.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, darling, you’re quite the sweet talker, ain’t ya?”

“Trevor, so help me, I have a gun, and I will use it.”

He chuckled, dragging Michael out of the bathroom. “Yeah, yeah. Reassert that masculinity, Mikey. I, for one, am convinced.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael answered, shakily. Unconvinced, then.

Trevor pulled at him. Belatedly, Michael reached over, flushing the toilet, watching the water swirl.

When he woke in the morning, nursing one hell of a hangover, he pretended that it didn’t happen, allowed himself to be welcomed by the open arms of his dearest, oldest friend, denial. He groaned as he rolled towards the center of the bed, found it vacated of his running partner. Thank God for small miracles.

In his stead, a mound of wadded up tissue, skin mags, and a battered pack of smokes.

Michael reached forward, gingerly nudging the tissues away, and pulled a cigarette from the pack. He looked at it, and definitely didn’t think about how Trevor’s dick would look in his fingers. 

Nope, he didn’t think about it at all.

* * *

The second time, yeah, okay, maybe it was a little bit more on purpose.

(Just a little.)

It was cold as fuck in North Yankton, six feet of snow outside, but it didn’t matter, they’d pulled off a score, and Lester had already fucked off, was long gone by now. Trevor had stepped out for a little ‘business meeting’, and Michael was busy counting bills. Non-sequential, hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens. His dick was hard just looking at it.

When Trevor blew through the door, already fucking high, Michael crowed triumphantly, stepped over the piles of discarded equipment spread all over the floor (fucking Trevor). He reached out to snatch the little baggie Trevor dangled before him, grinned. “Nice, man.”

“Yeah, what d’you say, wanna do a few lines, really get this party started?”

“Yeah, man,” said Michael, eyes as bright as traffic lights, and Trevor couldn’t stop looking at him. “Let’s party.”

Michael had hogged down three rails before he’d even raised his head, sniffing hard as he leaned back on the dingy loveseat, arms spread out over the back. He felt Trevor’s hair tickle his inner forearm as he joined him, reclining, putting his big, muddy boots up on the table dangerously close to the mirror, remaining lines situated precariously on top. “Hey, whoa. Careful.”

“You always got such a fucking stick up your ass, M. I’m careful, man, I’m careful.”

Michael sniffed. “Don’t take it so personal, T. That shit’s expensive.”

“Yeah, no shit, fuckwit, I bought the fuckin’ shit.” He nudged the mirror with his toe, again. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t suck it out of the fuckin’ carpet, anyway, Sniffles.” 

Michael laughed, wiping his nose with one hand, shoving at him with the other. “Fuck off.”

Trevor let himself be pushed, rocked back into it, until they were closer. Body heat radiated off of Michael, the fat fuck was even sweating a little, beads of perspiration running down his forehead. Trevor breathed deep, let out a shaky breath. 

Yeah, so, they hadn’t talked about it. Not that he expected Michael would talk about it. But he didn’t immediately get rid of him, like most people would’ve, and he didn’t seem to _act_ any differently. That was pretty much like a yes, right? Wasn’t a no, at least. 

“So, what, you wanna go out somewhere, find a couple of girls? Really make an event of it,” said Michael, mind alive with just how much dough they’d scored. They could do whatever they wanted.

“Calm the fuck down, Mikey, calm down,” said Trevor, leaning forward again for another rail. He pinched a nostril shut, lined up the straw with the other, lined it up. He practically hollered as he sat back, turned on Michael, pupils blown. “You just made all that cash and you wanna blow it on some pussy? You got all the drugs and booze you could ever want here, M, so calm the fuck down.”

“I think _you_ need to calm down,” said Michael. He nudged the mirror further away from Trevor. He was getting to that point where he made Michael a little, well, on edge, sometimes. “Just sayin’, it’d be nice to get our dicks wet. Don’t tell me that a job well done doesn’t get your blood moving in all the right places.”

Trevor snorted, reached over the arm of the loveseat for a beer. He handed one to Michael first, then popped the tab on his own, took a long swig which he punctuated with a belch. “Fuck yeah, it does, Mikey-- but unlike you, I don’t need to pay some girl for that kind of validation.”

Michael set his beer down, fixed Trevor with a look. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

His brows flared, mouth downturned. “Just sayin’ Michael.” He looked him straight in the eyes. “You owe me one.”

He laughed. “I owe you what?”

“Now, now, Mikey. You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about.” Trevor’s hand slid across the loveseat, until his fingers had hooked around Michael’s thigh. 

Michael stared at the hand for a moment, before slapping at it, pushing Trevor away. “Don’t fucking do that, man, don’t pull that shit. I’m tryin’ to have a good night.”

“It could be a _great_ night.”

He clicked his tongue, shook his head as he reached for his beer again. “Not _that_ kinda night, Trev.”

“So when’s it gonna be _that_ kinda night,” said Trevor, the frustration creeping into his voice. His hand slid down to adjust himself between his legs. Arguing with Michael always got him worked up. The coke probably helped, too.

The tension was starting to thicken in the room, Michael trying to levy his defences against this kind of barrage. He was a smooth talker, sure, but negotiating the terms of returning a blowjob he didn’t really want in the first place was a bit above his pay grade. He really didn’t want Trevor on his bad side, either.

“Look, T,” he started, sniffing, “I don’t really--”

“You came in my mouth, Michael,” said Trevor, “You _came_ in my mouth. You might be able to convince yourself, but you’re sure as shit not convincing me.”

Michael’s lower lip quivered. He took another sip of his beer, that turned into chugging the entire can. He set it back down on the table, next to the mirror, then bent down and picked up the straw. One more line. Okay, two. Two and he could manage this conversation.

He pinched his nose, sitting upright. Took a breath. “T, I’m not gonna suck your fucking dick.”

“Michael, that’s not fuckin’--”

“I’ll jerk you off, if you’ll shut the fuck up about it.”

Trevor paused. Michael exhaled, long and low. He didn’t look at his partner, just felt the cushions move as he scooted up closer, their legs pressing together. The room felt way too hot, all of a sudden, and he almost cringed as he heard the sound of Trevor’s pants being unzipped.

“Alright, Mikey, alright,” said Trevor, manic and giddy, “But you gotta take your shirt off, let me play with your tits.”

He winced. “Don’t fuckin’ call em my _tits_ , T, Jesus.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Michael, your _masculine rippling pectorals_.” His pants were discarded to the floor. “I sincerely hope my verbage allows you to better cling to the final vestiges of your heterosexual identity.” 

“Shut the fuck up, T.” He pulled at his shirt with a sigh, lifted it up and over his head. “You locked the door, right?”

“Yes, Michael, I locked the door, thank you.” He grabbed for Michael’s wrist. “Now, c’mere, sugar.” 

Michael turned to Trevor, gave him a disparaging look. Trevor looked positively enthusiastic. It was probably the drugs. His gaze dropped to Trevor’s groin, and he sniffed, fingers wandering over his skinny legs. He didn’t get a chance to resist, Trevor dragging his hand to his crotch, his fingers encircling his cock with a natural ease. It was just a dick. Smaller than his, even, and he couldn’t immediately make out any open sores or anything. 

Trevor groaned, spreading his legs as he leaned back on the loveseat. “Fuck, yeah, Mikey.” He licked his lips, bared his yellowing teeth as he stared straight through him. “Bring those tits over here.” 

“Trevor, come on, man.” He frowned, let his eyes drop down to where his hand was working dry over Trevor’s cock. God, he was so hard already. Like he’d been anticipating it. His own dick twitched in sympathy.

He was just starting to get into it, to focus, before he winced as fingers pinched at his chest. Trevor laughed at him as he shied away. “What, does it hurt your feelings when I make fun of your _generous bosom_? You gonna cry, Michelle?” 

“Yeah, it fuckin’ pisses me off,” he snapped, struck with just how ridiculous the situation was, Trevor’s precum wet on the tip of his thumb. He dropped his head between his shoulders, sighed. “Just cut that shit out, okay? Shut up and let me do this, if we’re gonna do this.”

Trevor made a sound, slid a hand up Michael’s neck, thumb petting the side of his face. He turned away from it, but Trevor knew he was just being shy. Trying to pretend like he didn’t like it, like he didn’t care-- it was how Michael protected himself, he knew it. Cracking that shell, sucking out the soft bits inside; that was what Trevor craved.  

“Sorry, Mikey. It’s just that I,” he started, leaning forward, “love your fucking tits.” His mouth closed over one of Michael’s nipples, tongue swirling around the hair, before he bit down, producing a hiss from the other man. The hand around his cock tightened, and Trevor groaned, bucked his hips into it. 

He came like that, Michael inexpertly jerking him off, sucking dark hickies into his running buddy’s tits-- sorry, his _pecs_. He didn’t stop even as Michael finished milking the cum out of him, his dick refusing to soften as he suckled at Michael’s nipple like he was getting something out of it. His hand dropped to Michael’s groin after he’d fully spent himself, and he grinned against his chest as he felt him thick and hard under his fingers. 

“Fuck,” Michael muttered, dropping his head back. It felt fucking good. Nobody paid attention to his-- okay, fuck, okay, his _fucking tits_ like that. 

Trevor released the nipple in his mouth, dragged his mouth up towards his clavicle, his throat, nipping at his Adam’s apple. He pushed Michael’s cum coated hand away, moved until he was straddling his lap, Michael’s hands gingerly coming to settle at his hips. 

He sat back, just looked down at him. Michael looked like he was about to shatter apart. He wanted to lick the sweat rolling down his forehead, wanted to kiss the mouth-shaped bruises forming across his chest, wanted to cut his throat and drink his fluids. Wanted to peel back the layers and see him for what he really was.

Trevor leaned forward. Michael’s hand shot up to lock around his throat, holding him back.

“Don’t.”

“Just kiss me, Michael,” he croaked against the pressure against his throat, grinding his ass down onto Michael’s dick. “Just one little kiss for your good pal Trevor.”

“It’s never ‘one little’ anything with you, T.”

“My dick’s pretty little.”

Michael actually laughed. "Don't talk about a man's dick like that. Especially your own." He looked down. "It's not _that_ little.” 

“Gets the job done, anyway.” He shrugged loosely. So maybe Trevor was a little flattered. Michael had paid him a compliment, those didn’t come easy from him.

And then Michael exhaled noisily. Moment over.

“Okay. I jerked you off, you crazy fuck. We’re done here.”

Trevor sucked his lower lip into his mouth, looked down between them, where Michael’s dick was still hard underneath him. “You sure you don’t want head?”

His mouth softened into a flat line. Trevor’s hand traced a line down his belly, and he sucked his stomach in as his fingertips teased at the waistband.

 “Fuck. _Fuck_.” Michael’s head dropped back against the sofa. “We’re already at this point, I guess. Shit. Shit, fuck, shit, okay. Yeah, okay, suck my fucking dick.”

He grinned, started to slink off of Michael’s lap. He grunted as one of Michael’s big fists grabbed his hair, pulled him tight. “What the fuck!?”

“I’m not gonna owe you again, am I? If I let you do this.”

“Who the fuck do you think I am, Mikey? I’m offering. No strings attached.”

“This better not leave this room.”

“Don’t worry, Mikey, I’m not dyin’ to brag about that pathetic handjob you just bitched your way through. Don’t worry.”

Michael frowned. “Okay.”

He released the grip on Trevor’s long, scruffy hair, but didn’t move the hand off his head. It felt kind of nice, actually.

Trevor undid Michael’s pants, helped him pull them down and off his legs, left them in a heap on the floor with the rest of their clothes. His elbow bumped the coffee table, and he heard Michael’s resounding hiss of disapproval.

“T, watch it, man! The fuckin’ drugs, man.”

“Ooh, yeah, Mikey, _the drugs!_ You want me to snort a line off your dick?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “No, shitheel, but you can give me a bump.” 

“Oh, shit, yeah.”

He reached over, used the overly long nail of his little finger, scooped up a bit of the powder. He sat up on his knees, offered it to his compatriot. Michael leaned over, pinched down one nostril, snorted it off the offered finger. Trevor felt his cock fill out again, his heart surging, genuflect, genuflect, our father, Hail Mary, Hail Mary, Hail Mary. He took a bump for himself, then settled between Michael’s spread legs, opened his mouth and got to work.

Trevor’s mouth felt great, yeah, he’d admit that to himself. Michael groaned as Trevor took him deep, pushed down on his head to force more into his mouth. He’d been with pros, fucked around with some townie girls, but for some reason the fact that it was Trevor, man. Like sticking his dick into a shark’s mouth and trying to avoid the teeth.

Trevor pawed at his thighs, pushed, and Michael cringed a little at just how fucking fleshy everything felt. He scooted his ass down further on the loveseat, lifted his legs to set his socked feet on the edge of the table. Trevor still had his fucking boots on.

He closed his eyes. He could feel his pulse hard in his throat, Trevor’s mouth and tongue working furiously around his cock. His balls pulled up, man, playing with his buddy’s dick had made him way hornier than it had any right to. So maybe he wasn’t as immune to Trevor as he wanted to pretend. So what?

He couldn’t help but groan, half-surprised, as he felt fingers tease the space behind his balls. His eyes snapped open, and he looked down at Trevor, who’d pulled his mouth off his cock to switch for his fingers. “The fuck you think you’re doing?”

The fingers popped out of his mouth with a wet sound that made Michael shudder. “Looking for the stick, Mikey. Think I can pull it out?”

He raised his leg, put his heel right on Trevor’s forehead, holding him at a distance. “Nuh-uh, T. Exit only.”

Trevor slapped his foot away, Michael’s leg landing with a clunk against the table. He glared up at him, saying, “You’re such a fucking pussy, Michael. Bound by the chains of heteronormativity. That’s just what society wants you to think, that liking it in the ass makes you ga--”

“You’re not putting anything in my ass, Trevor.”

“Okay, fine. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” lied Trevor. He offered a look of something that in a past life might’ve resembled sincerity. Positively angelic. “Now, you wanna come or not?”

Michael reached down, held the base of his cock. An invitation, if anything. Trevor let himself drink in the sight before him, the shine of sweat under Michael’s lip, his swollen nipples. That pissed off, coked up look on his face. “Nothing in my ass.”

“You got it,” said Trevor, parting his lips to take the head back into his mouth.

True to his word, he left Michael’s ass alone. For a little bit. He let a little bit of saliva out between his lips, covertly slid a finger through it as Michael leaned his head back. Before the other man could realize what he was about to do, he let his index finger slip lower, until the tip pressed against Michael’s asshole.

“Trev,” he said, warningly.

 Trevor had never been very good at heeding warnings. Rules were made to be broken, right? He pushed his finger in, felt Michael’s ass open up for him, heard the resulting groan above him. His heart positively fluttered. “Yeah, baby, open up for Uncle T. I’ll treat you right.”

Michael snorted, but it broke into a moan as Trevor fucked his finger into him. So it didn’t feel that bad. Didn’t make him gay or whatever. He experimentally clenched around it, a shot racing up his spine at the strange sensation. Like taking a good shit. Not that bad. His dick twitched at the stimulation, precum beading at the tip.

His fingers gripped tighter around Trevor’s head. “Just suck my fucking dick, already.” He breathed, heavy and laboured, before adding, “And don’t call yourself ‘Uncle T’ with your finger up my ass, you goddamn creep.”

Trevor laughed. Michael didn’t comment on the ‘baby’, at least, that was a good sign. He put Michael’s dick back into his mouth, curled his finger inside his ass, and got to work.

His orgasm hit him so quickly that it was embarrassing. He covered his face and moaned helplessly into the crook of his elbow as Trevor pushed his legs up further, bullied another finger into his hole. He milked a second, dry orgasm out of him, kept his fingers sliding in and out of Michael’s ass as he panted in the aftermath.

His whole body felt like he’d been shot through a rocket, and it was probably the drugs. He was almost too out of himself to realize when Trevor had pulled his fingers out of his asshole, hissing as the rough edge of his nail caught. He wasn’t too out of it when Trevor gripped him by the forehead, pushing those fingers into his face, smelling vaguely of himself. “Jesus--”

“Open up.”

“Fuck you,” he said, behind clenched teeth. He stared at Trevor’s fingers, tried to swerve away. Trevor’s grip was too tight. 

“Open.”

Michael kept his mouth shut. Trevor smacked him across the face, but he resisted. His hand slipped down to Michael’s nose, pinched it shut. He held his breath.

Finally, face red, he had no choice but to open. Trevor jammed the fingers into his mouth. They didn’t taste great. 

“Taste your fucking ass, Michael. _Taste it_.” 

Trevor’s words came faster, and before Michael knew what was happening, Trevor’s mouth was on his, gnashing, biting more than kissing, fingers pulling at their lips. His mouth tasted like death, tasted worse than his own ass, and Michael moaned, let Trevor sink into him. His hands tangled in his matted hair. Absolution.

It wasn’t until later, when they were dressed, a six pack killed between the two of them that Michael leaned forward, head in his hands. “What the fuck are we doing, T? What the fuck.”

“Well, Michael,” said Trevor, in that smart ass tone. “I think you’re falling for me.”

He smiled behind his hands, shook his head. “I hate you so fucking much.”

Trevor’s hand was wide and rough and warm on the small of his back. 

“I know, Mikey. Me too.”

* * *

There was a third time. A fourth, a fifth, etcetera, whatever-- the point is, Michael kind of lost count after a while.

 Trevor never lost count. He had a lot of different things he counted. The number of times he made Michael come just playing with his ass, the number of times Michael said his name into his mouth, the number of times Trevor let him put his dick inside of him, felt Michael finish inside of him. 

(The number of times he got his dick into Michael: zero.)

He was good with numbers. He was good with Michael. Good, great, _godlike_.

And then there was Amanda. 

She was alright. Whatever. She was pretty hot, honestly, and Trevor would love to watch Michael fuck her if he didn’t want to _rip her fucking guts out and shit into her innards and watch her try to drag her carcass away screaming in fear_ , but he could tolerate her. She made Michael happy, he could tolerate her.

He missed Michael, sometimes, though. Shitty feeling, knowing that he’d spend the night with her, again, and he’d sleep alone.

At least until he got that ass-o’clock early phone call. “Trev, I need-- I’m coming over.”

“Yeah, M, whatever you need,” Trevor said, the tiniest bit of hope growing between the crushing maw of his ribs. 

When Michael blew into his shitty trailer, he was pretty shitfaced, already. Sheet white. He’d parked his truck halfway up the curb, and Trevor would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the look on Michael’s face that told him he’d better not. 

“Hey, man,” he said, passing him a generously poured plastic cup of whiskey. Amanda would’ve balked at his poor housekeeping. He didn’t give a fuck. “You good? You okay?” 

When Michael didn’t immediately respond, just sat down heavily on the mountain of garbage on his sofa without any bitching whatsoever, he was maybe a little freaked. “Mikey, come on-- you know you can talk to good ole Uncle T.”

Michael laughed. Uncle T, indeed. Then leaned forward, face in his hand, and let loose one awful sob. The plastic cup crackled under the force of his grip, whiskey bleeding through the cracks between his fingers.

Trevor stared at him. “Michael, what the fuck.”

He shook his head, wiped a hand over his face. “Jesus, T. Jesus Christ, I don’t--” He looked away, his eyes shining, words rolling around in his wet mouth. “What am I gonna do?”

Trevor moved closer, sitting next to him, then slung an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, don’t worry, man. If it’s a body, I’ll help you get rid of it. If you pissed some guys off, we can--”

“Mandy’s fucking pregnant.”

 It’s like all the air was sucked out of the room, left this dread feeling of purgatory in its wake. Trevor’s tongue went numb, his face went tight. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, snorted noisily. “It’s yours?”

“Yeah, it’s mine.”

“She’s a pro, Mikey, she--”

“She stopped months ago, T.” Michael’s head hung low. “She stopped for me.”

He rubbed his hand over Michael’s back. Michael sagged against him. It was just natural to pull him in close, set his face against Michael’s shoulder and just hug the shit out of him. 

“Abortion?” he asked, quietly, after a moment.

“No, she-- she wants to keep it.”

“So adoption--”

“I don’t want someone else raising my fucking kid,” Michael said, almost shaking with the strength of his conviction. No, Trevor knew-- Michael’s father beat the piss out of him, the only time he paid any attention to him at all. Michael would make a good, present father. When the time was right, of course.

Now was not that time.

Possibilities racked around between the holes in his brain. Trevor’s mouth dipped low against Michael’s neck, his breath raspy in his ear. “I could... make her go away, Mike.”

He went still in his hold. He lifted his head, catching Trevor’s eyes with his own. 

Trevor looked at him darkly, lip curling. 

“I’d kill her. For you.”

He wasn’t expecting it when Michael swung at him. He took the hit, took it full on the mouth, crashing to the floor, laughing as he saw Michael’s bared teeth, grit hard with rage. “Oh, fuck me, Michael! You’re gonna make a great parent, _just like your dad_.”

“ _Fuck you_ , Trevor, you fucking psychopath.” Michael stood up, made to leave.

He grabbed for Michael’s leg tugged hard, sending him off balance, down, down, down to the floor with Trevor. Down to the bottom of the barrel, where he fucking _belonged_. Not with that slut, that whore, that _bitch_ who’d put her talons in him and taken Michael away from him.

Michael was _made_ for him. Trevor could unmake him.

“Get the fuck off of me!” 

Trevor shot forward, scrambled for the hunting knife he’d planted in the arm of the sofa some night or another. He managed to pin one of Michael’s wrists as he bucked, brandished the knife in front of him. “Relax, Mikey.”

Michael’s eyes flared icy blue with barely contained rage. “Trevor, I swear to Christ--”

“Come on, M. Don’t you have it in you for one last roll in the hay with your old pal Trevor?” He leaned down, his breath hot and sour in Michael’s face. “Or are you gonna be your usual stingy fucking self and Jew me outta that too?” 

His face cracked and he leaned down, cheek sliding against Michael’s. “Before you fucking leave me forever.”

He waited for Trevor to move, paralyzed, feeling ready to piss himself in fear. Sure, he’d always known somewhere, deep down, exactly what kind of man Trevor was. He’d never thought that he’d be on the receiving end of it. 

_I’d kill for you. I’d kill you._

After a moment, Michael slid his hand up Trevor’s waist, over his back. Like trying to soothe a hungry predator. “Trev, T-- I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’re still partners. We run together.”

“How’re you gonna run with that ball and chain dragging behind you, M?” He raised his head, his nose inches from Michael’s own. “You have to--” He drove the knife down into the carpet, directly beside Michael’s head, “--cut her loose.”

“That’s the woman who’s carrying my unborn kid you’re talking about, T,” he answered, tightly.

“Like it fucking means anything that you pumped a fetus into her, Michael. Any man can do that.” His eyes, red like stop lights, tracked every move on Michael’s face. “But no other man’s capable of the things that you’re capable of, when you’re with me. Not a one.”

“Fuck you,” he snapped, flecks of spittal spattering Trevor’s face. 

Trevor sat back on his haunches. Wiped his face. “Oh, no, Mikey. I think I’m gonna fuck _you_.”

Michael didn’t speak for a moment. Finally, he put his hands under himself, sat up. “Is that gonna make this easier for you? If we--”

“Take your fucking pants off, Townley.”

“I-- yeah, okay, sure, T. Whatever you want.”

Michael was so warm and tight around his fingers. His ass tasted so good, the scent of him so concentrated, so heady. The sounds he was making were simply divine. He was going to miss this. 

He pushed Michael facedown on the bed, a little gleeful that they were _in_ his bed. Normally it happened on the couch, the floor, truckstop bathrooms. This time was different. It was _special_. He even grabbed his pillow, shoved it under Michael’s hips to make sure he was comfortable. Trevor was a considerate guy.

He pulled his fingers out, grabbed for the lube. Michael was obscenely quiet. Too quiet. Just breathing hard into his arms. “You alright there, sugar tits?”

“Shut up, T.”

“Touchy,” he said, dribbling lube down Michael’s ass crack. He slid his fingers through it, before wrapping them around his cock, getting it nice and wet. He didn’t want to hurt him, after all.

He touched the head to Michael’s hole, felt him tighten in response. Michael looked over his shoulder. “Condom.”

Trevor shook his head. “Oh, no, _no_ , baby. I’m fucking you raw.” He shoved Michael’s head back down with one hand, guided his cock inside of him with the other. Leaning over his back, he whispered into his ear, “I want you to feel me for a long time, Michael. Long after I’m gone, you’re gonna feel me deep inside of you.”

Michael didn’t respond. Didn’t make a peep. Just the heavy, ragged sound of his breathing answered.

He sat back up onto his haunches, wrapped his hands around Michael’s fleshy hips, and proceeded to fuck the hell out of him.

 It didn’t last that long. Michael had a way of turning his crank like nobody else, man or woman, was capable of. Except maybe his mother. The thought of her softened his dick a little bit, so he turned Michael over to look at his face, fingers digging into his thighs as he resumed fucking into him. 

Michael’s eyes looked a little wet. Probably allergies. His place was dusty as hell.

He finished in Michael’s ass, then slid down to suck his come back out. He pulled Michael’s ass open, spat it back inside, fished it out again. He worked his hand over Michael’s cock, made him come, his ass clenching around his tongue.

After. Michael got dressed quickly, pulled his jacket over the breadth of his shoulders. Trevor wouldn’t stop trying to touch him, but God, he just wanted to leave. 

“Mikey,” said Trevor, pulling at his jacket. “Michael, come on, man, let’s just watch TV, get drunk or something. Don’t leave now. Makes me feel like a cheap date, y’know, you just up and leaving after a fuck.”

Michael sighed, head hanging. “T, I should--” He turned, looked back, found those same searching eyes he had seen all those years ago in the light of the flare. He sighed. 

“Don’t leave yet,” said Trevor, a smile crawling across his cracked lips. “Stay, bro. Have a drink or two. Don’t leave.”

“Don’t worry, Trev,” lied Michael, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He positively tittered. “Nowhere I can’t find you, anyway, Mikey. Heh.”

Trevor passed him a beer. They sat down on the sofa, stared at the TV. The knife stuck out of the floor in the center of the living room, like an omen.

Guy stuff. Didn’t mean shit. It was the last time it was gonna happen, the last time he’d let himself get sucked into the black hole that was Trevor Philips, ever again.

Michael would make sure of it. He took a breath, sipped his beer. Listened to every laugh, hung on every word Trevor said beside him.

Yeah. He finished his beer. He’d make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> *wheezes* I just had to get this out of my system.
> 
> And now, back to your regularly scheduled Overwatch fanfic.
> 
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